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The Loves of Krishna in Indian Painting and Poetry Part 8

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Startled, she stirs and once again is calm, As now she enters the ways of love.

Sometimes she gazes at her blossoming b.r.e.a.s.t.s Hiding them quickly, then forgetting they are there.

Childhood and girlhood melt in one And young and old are both forgotten.

Says Vidyapati: O Lord of life, Do you not know the signs of youth?[63]

(Vidyapati)

iv

Each day the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of Radha swelled.

Her hips grew shapely, her waist more slender.

Love's secrets stole upon her eyes.

Startled her childhood sought escape.

Her plum-like b.r.e.a.s.t.s grew large, Harder and crisper, aching for love.

Krishna soon saw her as she bathed Her filmy dress still clinging to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Her tangled tresses falling on her heart, A golden image swathed in yak's tail plumes.

Says Vidyapati: O wonder of women, Only a handsome man can long for her.

(Vidyapati)

v

There was a shudder in her whispering voice.

She was shy to frame her words.

What has happened tonight to lovely Radha?

Now she consents, now she is scared.

When asked for love, she closes up her eyes, Eager to reach the ocean of desire.

He begs her for a kiss.

She turns her mouth away And then, like a night lily, the moon seized her.

She felt his touch startling her girdle.

She knew her love treasure was being robbed.

With her dress she covered up her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The treasure was left uncovered.

Vidyapati wonders at the neglected bed.

Lovers are busy in each other's arms.

(Vidyapati)

vi

Awake, Radha, awake Calls the parrot and its love For how long must you sleep, Clasped to the heart of your Dark-stone?

Listen. The dawn has come And the red shafts of the sun Are making us shudder.

(Vidyapati)

vii

Startled, the parrot calls.

See those young lovers are still asleep.

On a bed of tender leaves His dark figure is lying still.

She, the fair one, Looks like a piece of jewelled gold.

They have emptied their quivers.

All their flower-arrows are discharged, Drowning each other in the joy of love.

O lovely Radha, awake.

Your friends are going to the temple.

Asks Govind Das: Whose business is it To interrupt the ways of love?

(Govind Das)

In another kind of poem, Radha and Krishna are themselves made to speak--Krishna, for example, describing his first glimpses of Radha and Radha struggling to evoke in words the ecstasies of their love.

viii

Like stilled lightning her fair face.

I saw her by the river, Her hair dressed with jasmine, Plaited like a coiled snake.

O friend, I will tell you The secret of my heart.

With her darting glances And gentle smiles She made me wild with love.

Throwing and catching a ball of flowers, She showed me to the full Her youthful form.

Uptilted b.r.e.a.s.t.s Peeped from her dress.

Her face was bright With taunting smiles.

With anklet bells Her feet shone red.

Says Chandi Das: Will you see her again?

(Chandi Das)

ix

Listen, O lovely darling, Cease your anger.

I promise by the golden pitchers of your b.r.e.a.s.t.s And by your necklace-snake, Which now I gather in my hands, If ever I touch anyone but you May your necklace-snake bite me; And if my words do not ring true, Punish me as I deserve.

Bind me in your arms, hit me with your thighs, Choke my heart with your milk-swollen b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Lock me day and night in the prison of your heart.

(Vidyapati)

x

Never have I seen such love nor heard of it.

Even the eyelids' flutter Holds eternity.

Clasped to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, you are far from me.

I would keep you as a veil close to my face.

I shudder with fright when you turn your eyes away, As one body, we spend the night, Sinking in the deeps of delight.

As dawn comes, we see with anxious hearts Life desert us.

The very thought breaks my heart.

Says Chandi Das: O sweet girl, how I understand.

(Chandi Das)

xi

O friend, I cannot tell you Whether he was near or far, real or a dream.

Like a vine of lightning, As I chained the dark one, felt a river flooding in my heart.

Like a shining moon, I devoured that liquid face.

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The Loves of Krishna in Indian Painting and Poetry Part 8 summary

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